Daybreak
by Lady M28
Summary: Missing scene from 1x13. After the second hallway scene Mary and Francis go somewhere to begin to reconnect. ONESHOT! COMPLETE!


**Daybreak**

He pulls back from our kiss, laying his forehead against mine once again, our noses still touching. I already mourn the loss of his lips on mine - I have been without for so long.

"We need to tell my father what you've decided," he suggests softly, his finger coming up to trace my cheek.

"I don't..." I start, twirling his hair in my fingers. I'm not ready to let him out of my arms, much less my sight.

"I have no intention of letting you out of my sight any time soon," he smiles, belying my fears, squeezing my waist. "Come on," he drops his hand from my waist, grabbing my hand, heading toward his father's rooms. "The sooner we get this out of the way, the sooner we can find somewhere to be alone."

I can't disagree, and I can't stop smiling. Just yesterday, I never would have believed any of this was happening, any of it was even possible. I hadn't even seen Francis in more than two months, and the last time I did see him he was either angry or mocking. I'd accepted my fate; it was of my own making after all. "_Happiness is the one luxury we queens can never have._" Catherine's words rang so true. I'd accepted; I was moving on; I could even smile again without wanting to cry. But my true happiness had walked out the door when I betrayed his love for me and mine for him by believing in Nostradamus's vision more than the love we shared.

I can feel more tears leaking out of my eyes - this time not of joy or happiness, but of regret. We've - I've - already wasted so much time I spent trying to make things work with Bash when I could have spent it loving Francis.

"Hey," he says, his tone gentle, stopping just behind the corner to his father's rooms. "We have a lot of things to talk about, and I'm sure there will be tears, but I don't want to see you ripping yourself up inside," he continues, his fingers lightly tracing my brow, around my eye to my nose and back again. "You are the most kind-hearted and compassionate person I've ever known, and I know you must feel guilty for raising Bash's hopes, but he knew why you did this. It's not your fault that he didn't do any of this for the same reasons as you," he finishes with a light kiss.

I nod, knowing he's right, but it's still hard to not feel guilty- Bash loves me, I know this - though he was very insecure and jealous of my love for Francis. I can't dwell. I did all this for Francis. Bash did it for me - to have me as his own.

He doesn't move, his thumb stroking my cheek. I'm finally able to give him a little smile, which seems to satisfy him. He pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head before pulling me under one arm and turning toward his father's rooms.

"I need to speak with my father," he tells the guards.

"The king is indisposed," one of the guards tells him.

"I know neither of you may leave your post, but would you arrange for one of your fellow guards, or a page to come to my rooms as soon as they can?" he asks. From the sounds coming Out of Henry's chambers, he's with someone. Someone who sounds a good deal like Kenna, though I hope it is not.

"Are my rooms fine?" he inquires, leaning down to murmur in my ear. I nod into his chest, threading my arms around his waist. I feel him nuzzle and then kiss the top of my head.

We move slowly this way, but I don't think either of us would change things. I've so missed his warmth and scent. That mix of bergamot and bay and something that's just Francis. We get to his rooms and he asks his page to get pots of hot tea and spiced cider for us, then turns to ask if I've eaten. I realize I haven't eaten since morning and tell him so, he also instructs the page to include some food with the warm beverages.

Francis heads to his writing desk for parchment and a quill as soon as we enter his rooms, telling his father of my decision. "Mary, would you sign this along with my signature?" he requests, turning to me. I go to him, signing my name and watching as he heats the sealing wax, applies it to the parchment, then presses his seal of office ring into it. I realize then he never surrendered his ring of state, and Henry must have never asked him for it. He never really gave up being who he was, even with everything I put him through.

"I'll have my page deliver this when he gets back from the kitchens," he says, turning back to me.

"Didn't you ask one of your father's guards to arrange for someone to pick it up?" I ask.

"Yes," he nods, coming over to cup my cheek and waist, his thumbs moving in soothing circles. He chuckles, "But that was a mere formality. They won't bother and I know that," he reaches down to capture my lips in a soft kiss. It feels like love and home all in one beautiful package.

He pulls back, smiling down at me. "Let's move over to the couch," he suggests, putting a hand at the small of my back. He sits down first at the end of the couch, pulling me down next to him, kissing my temple. "There's a lot of things we need to talk about," he begins.

I sigh. "I know, but can we not talk about most of it tonight?" I request, reaching up to scratch his beard, laying my head on his chest. "I know we have to, but after tomorrow we go to Paris to do the wedding again for the people of France, then we'll have a wedding trip that will last a month or more, I'm sure - somewhere blessedly alone and away from here. We can talk about everything important there. Tonight I really want to enjoy the fact that we're back together, that I'm marrying the man I love tomorrow. I can't handle all that other stuff right now. Please."

"But we will speak of them, right?" he asks, putting a finger under my chin to make me look him in the eye. His eyes are so blue and expressive, true windows to his soul. What it means to be with someone again I know will never lie to me, who I know I can trust with everything.

I nod. "We will," I affirm, squeezing his other hand.

"There is one thing we do need to discuss tonight, and that's what to do about Bash," he says, a finger stroking my cheek.

"What do you mean?" I question, scratching his palm. I feel my brows furrow, not sure what he's talking about. My stomach clenches for a moment before relaxing - I know I can trust Francis.

"When I was in Paris, and also on the way back, I heard anti-Medici rumblings multiple times," he begins, taking a deep breath. His finger moving to my brow, soothing the rumple. "There are those that were happy you disrupted the line of succession for a purer Frenchman, even if he's a bastard. Also, I've already heard divisions here at court and I've only been back less than a day."

He's making sense - I know he is - though I'm troubled by my part in this. "I experienced the same things..." I trail off at the knock on the door. His page enters followed by a kitchen maid. They set down two trays on the table, then bow and curtsy and leave.

"You were saying?" he winds his finger, asking me to continue as he fills mugs with half tea and half spiced cider.

"This was your favorite when we were children," I smile, taking my mug, feeling a tingle where his fingers touch mine. "You always said cider alone was too sweet."

"It is," he takes a sip of his own, smiling at the taste. "Let's see what we have," he continues, pulling tops off plates. "Cold sausages, truffles and mushrooms inside egg - they must have missed me; it's a favorite of mine," he chuckles, happiness infusing his voice. "Cheeses, bread, pears and figs, lemon sponge cakes and clafoutis. They did miss me!" he grins, moving to set his favorite dessert by the fire to keep it warm along with the tea and cider pots, which he situates closer to the embers.

"Where did the cherries come from?" I ask. It's far too late in the year.

"The head cook has known me since I was born. She always stores a bunch of cherries in jars so she can make clafoutis for me whenever I want it, even out of season," he answers, moving to begin distributing the food. "Try this," he puts a bit of the omelet on his knife, then feeds it to me.

"That's really, really good," I nod. After I swallow, I take a sip of my cider. He gives me part of the omelet, some slices of the herbed sausages and bread. I smile before tucking in, only now realizing how famished I really am. I haven't eaten since before my mother arrived.

"Oh," I stop, remembering something. "The sheet inspection after the consummation - I won't have virginal blood to..." I trail off, my cheeks flaming.

"I know!" he grins, his brows raising. "Don't worry. I'll take care of that. We won't have the Church doubting the validity of our union," he leans over to kiss me, smiles on both our lips. He pulls back, a troubled look passing over his face. "One thing, though, that reminds me. Bash tried to imply that the two of..."

"_No_!" I interrupt, my face heats; he can't ever think that. My anger flares that Bash would ever say anything like that to Francis - or anyone. "I tried to move on, I do admit that. And I was beginning to, to be truly honest. But nothing like that would have ever happened between him and me till we were wed. Our relationship wasn't like that. He became angry at one point and threatened to abandon my plan if I only wanted a political marriage. But I wouldn't - I couldn't," I shake my head firmly.

He nods, shoving more food into his mouth, his lips just upturning at the sides, seemingly satisfied that he's still the only man I've ever given myself to. He swallows, taking a sip of his cider. "Which brings me back to what to do about Bash. He wanted and coveted you before you decided to end our betrothal. This afternoon he told me that you wouldn't care about the prophecy changing, anything my mother would have to say, or that you would even want to marry me. I don't think I...no, strike that, I don't think _we_ should have to always be on guard that he'll be lurking about waiting for us to argue - and you know we will - or have problems and think it's his place to try to do something about them. And then there's the political stuff as well. I'd made arrangements already to get my mother and siblings to Spain to live with Elizabeth for a time - they'd have protection there - while I figured things out for us longer term. I can have him escorted to the ship I'd already booked passage on, give him plenty of money and let him do the same as I was intending - figure things out once he gets to Spain. He could even go to the New World and seek his fortune there off the wilds of the land."

He makes good points. He knew long before I was aware of it that Bash had inappropriate feelings for me. Feelings I've needed to encourage and let grow these last couple of months. The one thing keeping him with me was his desire for me, to have me, to be my husband. Francis is right about those things, now more than ever. I think of another reason as well. "I also don't think he should have to watch our happiness," I reply softly, setting down my knife to reach over and stroke his hand. "I know we have a lot to say to one another and a long road to rebuild what was lost, but I want what we talked about when you proposed and the morning before I left on that very bed," I continue looking over my shoulder. "I want babies, a family - not just because we need heirs and to secure the line - but because we love each other and those babies will be gifts from God and expressions of that love. I want to create a family like neither of us ever had, but which I see when I watch you with your brothers. I tried to replace you a bit while you were gone, if you didn't know."

"How so?" he asks, his long fingers stroking the back of my hand, playing with my fingers.

"I tried to be a sister or mother to them." I give him a watery smile, tears springing to my eyes. "They were my last true connection to you. Loving and protecting them was the one thing I knew I could do to honor the love I couldn't let go of, but was no longer right."

A look that I'd tried to forget, but never wanted to and hadn't seen for far too long, washes over his face - desire. For me. His pupils dilate. His nostrils flare.

He takes his empty plate and mine and sets them on the table. He turns, looking hard at me for a moment, gaining my consent. He grabs me by the back of the neck and waist - first jerking me toward him, then guiding me back to the cushion, laying atop me. His lips attack mine, his teeth bite down sharply on my lip, his tongue soothing the hurt. I feel myself gasp as he kisses his way down my jaw to his favorite spot - just below my ear where my jaw and neck meet. He nips, sucks, licks and blows several times in succession, earning a moan of his name from me. His hand moves down to stroke my breast, finding its bud even through my corset.

I've missed his weight - his heaviness - above me. I rub my chest against his, but feel frustration at the thickness of his coat - I want to feel him; the rise and fall of his chest; the warmth that radiates from his skin, warming me like no blanket or fur ever has. I pull my hands out of his hair to push at the opening. He pulls back slightly to shrug out of his coat, immediately covering me again. I revel for a moment, feeling his missed warmth, rubbing my chest against his like a cat longing for a bowl of cream. I stroke his chest with one hand, my other again burying itself in his soft curls. My head throws back and my mouth falls open as he kisses down my neck.

"I hate this dress," he mumbles into my neck, trying to gain access to my collar bone and pulse point just below my neck. He moves back up my neck, capturing my lips again, his tongue sucking mine into his mouth and then chasing it back to mine. His hands returning to my breasts. I have to agree with him. I hate this dress. I hate everything that stands between us.

I rub against him as he grinds down on me. My thick skirts do not allow much by way of friction. I long to feel his hardness, to feel him inside me once again. To let him take me to that place where it's just the two of us and no one in the world matters. To truly feel whole again for the first time since I left him that fateful day.

"Ugh," he groans, giving me a chaste kiss, earning him a frown from me. He sits up, pulling me with him and then gets up and moves toward the fire. "Would you like some clafoutis?"

"What?" I fumble, my brain foggy.

He sighs, his head nodding involuntarily, like a puppet whose string is suddenly let go of, looking back at me. "We can't do what we both want to right now, so I'm trying to distract us with food."

"What would we both like to do?" I smile coyly, knowing the answer to that question. I'm already having to rub my legs together to try to satisfy the desire he has reawakened in me - I still feel his touch on my breasts.

"Wanton minx," he mutters, shaking his head, but I can see the smile on his face growing.

"Always," I nod, my tongue flicking out to lick my lips. He watches - mesmerized. "But only with you," I smile. "And, yes, if I can't have you just yet, I'll take some clafoutis."

* * *

I wake to him tracing patterns on my palm. "What time is it?" I yawn.

"Almost daybreak," he mumbles into my hair, breathing deeply. "I need to go speak with Bash before getting ready for the wedding. I want that taken care of before we wed."

"I should go." I move to get up. He stands quickly, untangling us and helping me to my feet. The blanket he wrapped around us falls to the floor. "My mother will probably already be in my rooms and wondering where I am."

He chuckles. "I have a feeling your mother knows exactly where you are." he shrugs back on his coat.

"You're probably right," I giggle, reaching up to kiss his chin, slipping into my shoes. She does seem to have made a lot of fast friends here at the chateau. "She also probably doesn't care, as it's you."

Holding me fast to him, kissing the side of my head, he pulls back. "I'll see you in a few hours in the chapel. I'll be the one at the front of the chapel aisle in black and gold, with a blackened eye," he laughs.

I reach up to trace my fingers over the bruise. "I'm sorry for that."

"I'm not," he shakes his head, pulling my palm down to kiss its center. "I learned too many truths during that encounter to regret it and I wouldn't be here with you now had I not been determined you deserved a choice, and to know the truth." He pulls back the sleeve of my dress to kiss my pulse point, ending with a touch of the tip of his tongue.

"Thank you," I murmur, reaching up to cup his handsome and beloved face. I feel tears forming at the corners of my eyes again.

"For what?" he asks, playing with the fingers of my other hand.

"For loving me enough to risk rejection." I feel tears slipping down my cheeks.

"But most of all, for believing I still deserved a choice."

FIN

**Endnotes**:

1) The second Francis & Bash scene has an establishing shot of the sun coming up in the east over the lake. Francis is still in the same clothes he was wearing when he got back. I believe they gave us this timing marker for a reason, they wanted us to know that Mary & Francis had spent the night together somewhere reuniting.  
2) if you don't know what clafoutis is, you're missing out. It's kind of a really thick flan and is dotted with black cherries. It's marvelous!  
3) This wasn't necessarily written for the 100th Mary & Francis thread at fanforum, but since we decided to go with a wedding theme I decided to use it for my submission. Thanks to **Tessa** and **Shu** for both your hard work on the thread. But I would be remiss without mentioning the wonderful **Rachel**, who keeps things on track and always fun. Love y'all, love the friends I've made on the thread, even if a lot of us mostly talk on twitter anymore!  
4) thank you as always to my beta, **justcallmesmitty**. So glad you're feeling better!  
5) thanks to **Tessa** for the icon for this story!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I just enjoy playing with pretty things.

Reviews and comments are always greatly appreciated.


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